


Crimson Embrace

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Challenge Response, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-04-26
Updated: 2000-04-26
Packaged: 2018-11-10 16:21:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11130366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: All Frannie wanted to do was have a quiet read at lunch...





	Crimson Embrace

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

This is the very first piece of fic I ever wrote

This is the very first piece of fic I wrote... it's in response to Player's Bad Romance Novel Challenge over on RSY... no pairings (well, except Frannie and a book, LOL!), just a bit of fun!

Title: Crimson Embrace

Author: Debbie Hann

Rating: PG for lurid prose and vocab

Summary: All Frannie wanted to do was have a quiet read at lunch...

Disclaimer: The characters don't belong to me, they belong to Alliance... I'm just letting them come out and play.

Feedback: yes, please!!! Debhann@aol.com

Huge thank you's to Tree for her grammar check and all... 

And to Jo, Pin, and Sappho - who gave me the idea of the huddle and started the ending! Thanks!!

 ~*~*~*~*~

10 a.m.

"No, for the third time, we do not need any cappuccino, or copies made, or files pulled," Harding Welsh barked. "Now, we are in a private conference, so if you would excuse us, please, Miss Vecchio?" The waving gesture he made with his hand made it clear that she was dismissed.

'Man, someone sure has a bug up their butt' she thought; Frannie was not pleased. Not even Fraser's "Thank you kindly, Francesca," helped as she stalked out of the office. They had been in there all morning. Ray had swept though the precinct an hour and a half ago carrying a brown paper sack, and hadn't even let Fraser stop by her desk so she could say good morning. 

She went back to her desk and pretended to work. Frannie could see Lt. Welsh, Ray, Huey, and Dewey all huddled around Welsh's desk. It looked like they were typing something. She had seen them cover up some papers when she went into the office a minute ago. What were they working on?

And what was Fraser doing? He was off to the side, separated from the huddle. But she had seen him make occasional statements all morning. At one point he had even acted like he was climbing steps or something, and Frannie didn't know what to make of that. Which only made her madder.

Now he was taking out a canister of something from his Sam Brown. 'Must be one of his Mountie potions,' Frannie judged by the way everyone else moved even further away from him. He spread some of it on some papers and took them to the other officers. 'Maybe it's some sort of super secret assignment. But why are they all standing so close now?' Frannie continued to stew, glaring at anyone who tried to ask her a question.

12 p.m.

Lunch time. Finally. She still didn't know what had been going on all morning. 'But who cares,' Frannie thought, 'I've gotta whole hour to myself.'

She clicked the button to make the screen saver on her computer go on, and then her hand moved from her mouse to the top drawer of her desk where she found her lipstick, mirror, and brush. A quick touch up was all she needed. After all, she never knew when Fraser might get out of Lt. Welsh's office. Then, reaching down into the deep bottom drawer, she pulled out her lunch bag and her book. 

Her skirt didn't give her much mobility as she stuck out a foot to close the drawer, but she made it work. Turning towards the lunch room, Frannie had just swiveled her hips around the desk, when someone slammed into her. She stumbled forward, dropping her book on the ground and almost doing a belly-flop on her desk. "Hey! Watch it, this isn't the Indy Speedway, bucko!"

"Oh, Miss Vecchio, I'm so sorry. I was just in a hurry to get this box of evidence down to the vault for Lt. Welsh. He wants it down there now." The young man turned bright pink as he tripped over himself trying to apologize. "I didn't see you."

"Yeah, well, you might try not holding the box in front of your face next time, Tommy." The waves of misery rolling off the kid grew even more intense. "Never mind, Tommy, just be more careful, ok?" 

"Oh, here, you dropped your book." 

Frannie took it from him, "Thanks, Tommy."

He nodded eagerly and rushed away to deliver the box, leaving Frannie to reflect on what a softie she was becoming. 'Must be Fraser's influence. He's making me go Canadian.' That thought made her think of other Canadian things she'd like to try, but she distracted herself by thinking that without the needling back and forth with her brother, she just hadn't had a good tantrum in months. Kowalski didn't quite have the older-brother-practical-joking thing down like Ray, not that he didn't drive Francesca crazy in his own way. Like the other day....

"Oh, man!" She suddenly realized that the book in her hand wasn't closing properly. "Great, just great. First he runs me over, now he kills my book." And it was a new one she hadn't even gotten halfway through. "Well, crap" 

She was so intent on muttering about "one thing after another," she didn't notice that she had a shadow. A rather large and attenuated shadow. Made up of many parts. Five parts actually: Ray, Huey, Dewey, Welsh, and a rather reluctant Fraser. They all followed her to the break room, careful to stay well back and then to stay lurking in the shadows in the hallway. The waited there and watched.

After slamming the contents of her lunch onto the table one by one, Frannie realized that she was letting the stress of the whole morning ruin her lunch and her book. She didn't want to do that; it was by one of her favorite authors. Even the title was exciting: Crimson Embrace. She took a deep breath to calm herself and sat down. 'First half the sandwich, then Chapter 5.' She was past page 150, so she knew there must be a good steamy scene coming up.

As she ate her sandwich, the lurkers continued to watch. Only Ray moved; patience wasn't his fort. Then she picked up the book and all five of them became more alert.

"Crap," she said again. Some of the pages already looked like they were coming out; 'the book must have hit the floor really hard,' Frannie thought with some confusion. But she was too intent on the upcoming scene to let it distract her. Soon she was too lost in the description of the roguish Nicolas' daring rescue of the beautiful Alexandra to care.

"This is taking too long, Ray," Dewey complained.

"But the pay-off'll be worth it. Just wait." Kowalski murmured back.

Fraser leaned around the other men for a better view. "Gentlemen, she has approximately 1.78 pages left."

"Thank you, Constable," Welsh replied with a half-grin.

Frannie's eyes continued to dance across the pages as she chewed. "Nicolas cradled her in his arms, his firm thighs encased in buckskin trousers taking the steep ladder to the lower decks easily."

Frannie turned the page, momentarily distracted by the fact that not only had the publisher not secured the pages well, they had changed paper quality. Weird. 

"Alexandra knew she owed him so much for rescuing her from her nefarious step-father's plot. But she didn't know if she could pay the price she knew he wanted. The nuns at the convent where she had grown up had been very specific about a woman's chastity. She must resist, Alexandra thought, as she chewed her lower lip delicately, and tried to pull the ripped wisps of her dress back over her delightful, yet heaving, bosom. But these new urges of her body were so hard to resist; with his broad shoulders and slim waist, he was a yield sign -- yet she could NOT! Oh! What should she do? What could she do?" 

'Huh,' thought Frannie, 'kinda formulaic'. 

"But the moment of decision was at hand; they had reached his cabin. He kicked open the door with his booted foot, his calf muscles barely straining with the effort of thrusting open the heavy oak door. He moved rapidly to the bed, and sat down, continuing to cradle her in his arms. "I want you," he said, his voice gravely with pent up desire. "I want you now." 'This is more like it!' Frannie thought.

"Alexandra looked up into his deep blue eyes, her own innocent orbs full of misgiving. Yet she trusted him implicitly. Even if they had only know each other for three days, half of which she had spent tied to her stepfather's bed fearing the evil man's worst. She reached up and put both of her arms back around his neck and brought his mouth back down to hers. Moments, or was it hours, later, they broke apart, and she collapsed, boneless against his chest. His chest was her pillow, and oh, did she drool." 'Drool? Drool', Frannie thought 'eww, who wants that, makes you think of slobber, not licking or kissing."

Several pairs of shoulders began to silently shake out in the hallway as a look of confusion crossed her face. 

She turned the page, which was another one with weird paper, and kept reading. "Nicolas couldn't believe what her innocent kisses did to him. He only knew that he had never been attracted to a woman the way he was attracted to his sweet Alexandra. Her long flowing tresses spilled over his chest, licking his skin like fire; he could even feel it flutter across his bulging thighs, and his turgid length. And her mouth. A little pink rosebud that drew his own lips. He had to kiss her again, and as he leaned back down to capture her mouth, she tightened her arms around him. Her embrace made his manhood swell like week-old roadkill on hot asphalt in the Georgia sun."

"WHAT!?!" Frannie shrieked. "Roadkill! What is..."

Her outraged shrieks came to an abrupt halt as male laughter spilled in from the hallway. She whipped around. Ray and Welsh had tears rolling down their faces. Huey and Dewey were using the walls to prop themselves up they were laughing so hard. Even Fraser seemed unable to suppress a grin.

Frannie looked from the mirth-filled group back to the book, her mind racing. It must be connected; what had they done?

"Oh! Yer face, Frannie," Ray managed to gasp out before dissolving into giggles again.

Comprehension dawned as she looked more closely at the book. The loose pages weren't coming loose from the binding, they were...

"You pasted your own pages into my book!" 

"Didja enjoy his rippling muscles and his straining manhood?" Ray asked with an evil grin, causing the other men to guffaw. 

"You SKUNKS!" Frannie's voice rose even higher, and Fraser thought it was wise to intercede.

"Francesca, the pages are affixed only with a light coating of a cream I made from beaver placenta and gray lichen. It will act not unlike a post-it, and will come off quite easily."

"You mean you had something to do with this?" Frannie screamed indignantly.

Color spread up Fraser's neck and cheeks as he tried to loosen his suddenly tight collar with a finger. "Well, uh, I merely added the adhesive technology."

Huey and Dewey started laughing again, and Ray snorted. "Yeah, right, Fraser, so I guess it wasn't you who demonstrated how our strapping hero could carry the heaving bosom lady down the stairs?"

"That was merely information about loads and balance, Ray," Fraser stammered.

"And so the information about buckskin trousers being 'in period,' that wasn't you, Constable?" Welsh interjected.

"Yeah, and who suggested the word "turgid," Fraze?" Ray added helpfully.

"Yes, well," Fraser replied seriously, "I felt your work should stay true to the genre."

They had all worked together on this, Frannie realized. The whole morning..... huddled around... "This is what you spent the morning doing, isn't it! Great, just great! Our taxpayers' money at work!" 

Her outrage only sent the four cops off into redoubled gales of laugher. 

"So, Frannie, was it spicy enough for you? Didja get to the reference to his manly scepter of love?" Ray grinned hugely. 

Frannie threw the book at Ray's head. "Ow! What about her bosoms spilling like white milk out of her corset?" 

"Oh, I'll show you spicy, brother dear, just wait. I'll get you for this! All of you." Her eyes glinted with promise. More laughter followed her down the hallway. 

8 a.m., The Next Morning

"Love the roadkill, Ray. Great touch! Who knew you all were such wordsmiths?" Jenkins grinned as Ray and Fraser walked into the precinct.

"Roadkill? How'd he know about that?" Ray asked. 

"Oh, dear." 

Ray turned his head to see what had caused Fraser's statement. The bulletin board, which usually held Most Wanted and anti-drug posters was completely covered by two very large poster boards full of type, and another huge poster with a picture. "What is that?"

They walked closer. The poster-boards were full of printed words; above them was a sign in gold and red lettering that read, "Read the latest work by our very own romance novelists, Lt. Welsh, Detectives Vecchio, Huey, and Dewey, and Constable Fraser." Clearly Frannie had gotten in early.

But it was the third poster that made Ray and Fraser gape. Somehow she had blown up the cover of Crimson Embrace. A man with no shirt and pants that looked like they had been spray painted over outrageously large muscles still stood against a ship's mast clutching a woman with long, flowing hair, clad only in a petticoat that did very little to contain her assets. But the face gazing down at the scantily clad young lady no longer had dark locks blowing in the sea breeze. Instead it was framed by spiky blond hair. 

"Oh, my gawd." Ray could feel the entire precinct's eyes on them. 

"It is quite well done, Ray, one can hardly see the seam where she joined your picture to the man's neck." 

"Hey, Fraze, how quick do'ya suppose our bulging thighs can get us out of here?"

Fin!

Copyright October 1999 Deborah Hann


End file.
